


To Covet, I Confess, I Am Not My Own

by 1V1



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Adaptation, Breeding Kink, Cannibalism, Developing Relationship, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Gore, Introspection, Loss of Innocence, Masturbation, Mending Bonds, Murder, Obsessive Behavior, Post-DMC5, Relearning to be Human, Self-Denial, Self-Discovery, Self-Hatred, Smut, Vergil-POV, familial ties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1V1/pseuds/1V1
Summary: He flexes his fingers. Looks at the way his skin stretches over muscle and bone. They are his he thinks- but they are not human.Her hands lace into his own. Skin over muscle and bone. They are not his. They are human. He wonders if she knows, he wonders if she cares. He has not worried over this fact ever before, not even at their first meeting, has never concerned himself with being what he is- only on what he lacks. On power outside his grasp, on his abilities, on his survival and triumph over obstacles. Concern over something like this, on how being a demon might not be something he wants, is new. It is something he has never worried over, never concerned himself with, because he never had reason to before.Her hands are laced with his.He worries they will break if he is not careful.----In where Vergil reconciles his heritage, his actions, himself.A fic where he finds himself in love.
Relationships: Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 59
Kudos: 236





	1. He knows better, yet cannot help the decisions he makes. This, he tells himself, is human.

He should have ignored you. Ignored your smiles, your casual acceptance of him, so out of place at the diner. You were not waitstaff, nor a hostess or a cook- you were just a stranger, another patron. A regular who’s name was known and you had a usual order. The droll simplicity in your arrival greeted with a joyful hello and familiarity from the staff and from other regulars, his own brother included. The light teasing that past between you and Dante spoke of a familiar song and dance a light acquaintance born of reoccurring ritual and mediocrity. 

All in all, you were nothing, no one, a stranger who’s path happened to cross his own for a brief moment and would phase of out his life as all people did. He’d only come down to the diner with Dante because of the promise of free food late at night, a mission completed with less than usual of Dante’s destructive habits. 

Your greeting followed by the genuine smile was so benign, so commonplace he figured once he stared you down you’d get the hint, distance yourself as everyone else did. Only your smile didn’t waver you just said ‘Ah, well, even if you’re only here for a night, it’s still nice to meet you.’ Like he wasn’t trying to make you understand how much a threat he was, how easily your neck could be separated from your shoulders at a moment’s notice. Other patrons kept their distance, even with Dante as his company. Dante teased him how off putting his demeanor was, how he always looked ready to kill someone for just talking to him, (he was). How he’d never make friends scowling as he did, (he was not in the business to make friends). Yet as they ate their meal, (he eating a simple chicken salad while his immature sibling ate a strawberry sundae of all things) he couldn’t help but take stock of the diner. Of it’s patrons.

The mother and son in the corner, working on the child’s homework in the dingy lowlight. The older man at the bar nursing a drink and hamburger, pants and coat stained with oil and grease from an autoshop. The three teenagers on their phones sharing photos with each other and talking no doubt over their devices rather than out loud. Then there was you. Seating at a booth three rows away, casually eating your soup with a book propped up against the napkin dispenser. A quick look in the reflection of the mirror by the entry told him it was a medical textbook- the type used by nursing schools and doctors across the field. Entry level- he was familiar. 

You were normal, everyday. A piece of normalcy in a world that was behest by devils and demons he had his own hand in releasing to this same world twice over. Thrice, if one counted his time as a puppet to Mundus. You were inconsequential, a speck of dirt that would wash away with time, forgotten by history and who’s legacy would be nothing.

So why, when you saw him on the street, his path towards the grocery and your own the opposite direction did you smile his way, did you greet him like he hated looked at you with pure contempt? You said his name and asked if you were possibly mistaken. A foolish thing, his name and countenance alone was rather unique and hard to miss even he was aware of such. Yet at his cold reply that you were correct your smile brightened, saying you hadn’t meant to be so casual that night in the diner- she’d assumed you were alike Dante. 

“But that’s really not the case is it?” Your words seemed out of place as if you knew him better than you did, “Still, sorry if I spoke too casually to you being a stranger and all. But if you’re ever at the diner again, let me make it up to you? There’s no reason to be strangers when one could be friends. At least, that’s my opinion.”

You, a speck of dirt, a dayfly who would vanish from his life as easily as you came offered him a meal, company, and if he were not so good at reading body language, might have assumed you were flirting with him. But your stance and cadence of speech was more friendly than flirty. Your face held no traces of lust or attraction, just a benign friendliness he might equate to a dog, (though he knew better than to voice such an opinion). 

Vergil was not in the market for friends. He had no reason to accept your offer, no want or need for the companionship of another. He was find being solitary- his brother alone grated on him as it was. Yet he was not rude, he knew how to act human to pretend to be civil. His vague answer of ‘Perhaps. I don’t often eat out.’ Should have been enough, but the soft laugh you made confused him. Most would take his mild rejection and be done with it. 

“I can understand that. But sometimes… you need to get away. The diner is a good place for that.” Your shrug and smile was kind, friendly even. “See you around!” Your cheerfulness at your parting, the way you seemed to just accept his cold tone and his annoyance so clear on his face- were you perhaps slow in the head? Inept at reading social cues? He guessed you likely were. It would make sense- no one bothered with him after they got the message that he had no desire for human interaction. He had no need for it, no want for most human desires beyond the simplistic base needs as a living being.

Time passed. If he were to dwell on it, he’d put it at perhaps 5 weeks. It was perhaps luck? He disliked saying fate because of all the things he knew, nothing was fated, nothing written in stone. After all, if that were the case, he’d have long been dead.

It was a cursory glance into the diner- He only was in the area because it was in his path to Dante’s. But there in the window of the diner you sat, book propped up by napkin dispenser, another medical textbook, this one on the human respiratory system. He wasn’t really aware of his hunger till then, the aroma of cooked meats and grease not appealing but reminding him he hadn’t eaten in a full 24 hours. Even half demons like him could only go so long without proper nourishment. It was a place he knew, it was late, and the food last time hadn’t been terrible.

He went in, the chime of the bell at the door drawing the eye of patrons and staff alike. The waiter’s false sincere greeting was met with a cool look. He didn’t want small talk, just food. He noticed your own head turned to see his arrival, a small smile on your face with a single wave of your hand- not to have him join you but in acknowledgement, greeting. He should have ignored it, pretended he didn’t know you, but instead he inclined his head, making your smile widen before you went back to your book.

He ordered his meal and when it came time to pay, the waiter just chuckled and said the bill had been taken care of, courtesy of his ‘lady friend’. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Annoyed? He could pay for his own meals fine, unlike his sibling who he was aware bummed food off his companions time to time. He also was, well, a man, and wasn’t it odd for a woman to pay for a man’s meal? A stranger’s meal no less? The emotions he felt were odd in his chest, but he simply accepted it for what it was. A free meal, enough to sustain his body, and when he looked for you, you had already gone for the night.

That was that.

Truthfully, he didn’t plan for anything beyond that instance, beyond that interaction. He didn’t think anything of the encounter and had no reason to seek you out.

And yet…

And yet. 

There you sat in the park, your jacket under your form separating you from the cool semi-damp earth of the mid-morning, exposed in the open area away from the shade of trees. Knees crossed, hunched over another medical text, this one on the circulatory system, a half eaten meal from what he guessed was a café or bistro by your side. 

Normal, mundane, human and so ignorant of the dangers that abound in the world, of how just the night before a demon had used the same park to stalk it’s prey and chase them to their slaughter not three blocks down.

You, who sat, eyes focused on letters, brows furrowed in concentration had no idea a devil looked at you and thought how easy it would be to take his sword and sever your spine in a single cut. A quick painless death- a mercy to end your suffering in a world that existed to only cause undue pain and chaos on the weak and ignorant. 

You didn’t even notice his approach. Your focus on your book and not on his presence, on the shadow he cast, or the pressure he exuded. Not on the crunch of grass or the scent of danger he knew clung to him, the scent of a devil, of inhuman. You hadn’t a clue- you were a gazelle, waiting patiently for the lion’s strike. 

“I didn’t expect you to actually pay for my meal.” He hadn’t planned to interact with you. He hadn’t planned to even acknowledge you, your existence. He had thought how easy it was to kill you. To end your life, to stop your face from casting that smile his way like he too, was human and not in fact, your natural predator hidden in plain sight.

Vergil felt a part of him thrill when you jumped, when the squeal of surprise left your body as you turned to face him, eyes wide like a doe looking down a hunter’s barrel. 

But the look was brief, fleeting, because as soon as you saw his face the tension left you, the smile you held once before returned, as you laughed and admonished him for sneaking up on you, (he hadn’t. You were just too much engrossed in your text, too ignorant of your place as prey, as weak and vulnerable).

“It is nice to see you again,” he wasn’t sure why you’d think that, “and I said I would didn’t I? You looked like you’d had a rough night anyway. I figured that you probably wanted to eat and just go home.” You were right, and he was glad you held some common sense.  
“What brings you out here today?” The question had him pause. Truthfully- nothing. The scene of the demon attack was three blocks away. It had been dispatched last night. There were no other signs nor traces of demonic activity in the area. He hadn’t planned on walking through the park, let alone making contact with you.

Yet he answered, despite it all, the words tumbling out without thought, much unlike him.   
“I don’t know.”

He blinked at you as you laughed, full and bright and loud. Crinkles at your eyes, smile open and wide and head thrown back in gayful merriment.   
You sounded like bells he thought.

“Well, I mean, yeah, sometimes… You don’t have a plan.” You hummed. “Sometimes you just have to start walking and just… go.” You spoke like it made sense when it didn’t. It was illogical, foolish, dangerous, stupid- who would wander so aimlessly in this world knowing the dangers hidden in the dark? Who’d be so brazen to think that they would never encounter that which had once threatened their very existence?

“You seem to be in a better mood than the other night though, so that’s good.” You looked up at him like you meant your words, like you did feel glad at his feigned docility. “Is it rude to guess that Dante not being around might have something to do with that?” His lips twitched as he felt the traces of a smile on his face, because yes that was in part why he was in such a mood and lacking bloodlust as he was.   
“Am I so easy to read?” He stared down, standing while you remained seated on your own jacket, textbook dogeared and set aside while you spoke to him, giving him full attention, eyes focused on nothing but him. A drastic shift from moments ago when he’d stalked his way to your side without your notice.

“Not really- But you and him- it’s easy to tell as far as siblings go you’re nothing alike. Plus while Dante’s not a friend and I know him mostly in passing, he does have a habit of riling people up. I think I’ve seen him start… two? Two fights.” The giggle that you made had eyes crinkling again, and Vergil noted the lines by your mouth pulling when you smiled. You must smile a lot. “So it doesn’t surprise me if he’s the same sort to do with his own family. Brothers are just like that.”

“You have a brother as well?”

“Younger and older. The older ones teases me, the younger one bullies me into taking care of him. They drive me nuts but you know-“ He doesn’t. He’s never had a real sibling relationship with Dante. And what one he did have was rivalry. Since his return he’s barely managed to form something close to a ‘bond’ with his twin, and even so it still usually ends in a physical fight. The largest change is he’s stopped trying to decapitate the man.   
“-No matter how they piss me off they’re still my brothers. That’s just family I guess.” You blink, doe eyes widened as you see him and Vergil wonders if this is when you realize he’s only been patronizing you, he’s not safe, he’s not harmless he’s-

“Sorry, I tend to talk people’s ears off. I think I’m just starting to get a bit of mental fatigue with my studying and am looking for any excuse to take a break with.” Your smile is strained, a crack in your cheer and gay aura. The book is lifted, and Vergil notes the tiny strips of colored paper along the bottom. Notes he assumes. 

“You’re a student?” He asks. You’re older than 20, a bit older than most college students he’s seen. You don’t look like an older woman, but there are signs on your age. The way you carry yourself, the fact he can see small marks in your skin, your style of dress- a bit more mature than most. 

“I want to become a doctor.” You say it with a hint of sadness in there, like you will not be.  
There is an invitation there, an openness to have questions answered if he asked them.  
He does not.

“A noble profession.” He replies, trying to not sound insincere. Truthfully, he finds humans that can expend that much of themselves into caring for others unfathomable. He cannot understand the need to care for others so, to want to heal rather than leaving them to die, weak, helpless things they are. 

You look away then, and he sees the melancholia in your countenance. There is an openness in you, a sort of welcomed thing that he knows would afford him honest answers and your willingness to give them. But again, he refrains. He won’t, can’t, become involved with humans. Humans expect things he cannot give them, will not give them. Time, energy, affection honesty, kindness- he cast those parts of himself away, and even when he was made to take them back he will not allow them to be used. Not allow them to be manipulated like they are so easily with his brother.

“I just want to make the world a better place than I found it.”

Your words hold something in them. A trace of fire, of anger and grit. Determination he assigns the feeling you exude in those words. You genuinely believe in your ideal and goal. Foolishness in his opinion. One human cannot change the world. Humans are weak, ephemeral things, destined to die and be forgotten in time. Even great masters of crafts and arts and rulers fall to the wayside eventually. Still, Vergil does not voice these thoughts he knows as truths. It is better he reminds himself, to allow humans to live in their lies and ill crafted ideals. Otherwise, they would be no better than feral beasts. 

“I can only with you luck with your goal.” It is the most he can say to be polite, the most honest he can be without telling you the cruel truth he knows. His words seem to have an effect, your gaze once more cast up to his, your eyes catching his own and a smile on your face.

“Thank you.” It is a gentle sincerity, a hope that you have with warmth in your voice that is doubtful but wishing for his words to be true. For your sake, he wished they were as well. When he walks away abruptly, he doesn’t see your smile fade so much as he sees the emotions behind it. The sadness, the ache that reveals you know your goal is a fool’s dream. That for all your idyllic hopes you likely will change nothing in the world and it shall remain as it always was, always has been- cold and uncaring. Merciless and unfair and unkind. The world is crawling with demons and monsters.

He should know. He is one of them. The only difference is he doesn’t deny it. Humans do.

Time presses onward. Dante and he do not get closer so much as they relearn each other. Relearn what it means to have a ‘brother’. To have ‘family’. This time there is no hate he feels for his sibling, a lingering bitterness at their fates, at their shared loss and their drastically different lives- but the anger, the sorrow, the hate- it is less now. The inferno inside him are just embers. Some days Dante stokes them to a flame. Some days he ignites the pain and agony in Dante. The flames that marked the end of their childhood have left their wounds and now they are left to heal them even after they’ve scarred. 

It’s hard, but the day that Dante jokes about him buying Opera tickets to gift to his future daughter-in-law, Vergil realizes how much more human he acts. How much more he seamlessly blends into human crowds and interacts with humans in general. Once he avoided the young lady who his son was in love with out of respect for the young man’s personal affairs and their own lacking relationship. Now, he visits every other week to spar with Nero, pass materials along to the insufferable Nico, and joins them for dinner at 7pm on the dot. It is routine, it lacks heat and fire and hate and bitterness and vaguely, as he stares down the envelope with the opera tickets for Kyrie’s birthday, he realizes that a part of him is human.

A part of him cares.

He’s not sure what to make of it, but in the end he arrives at his son’s residence and is welcomed inside with the same uncertainty between himself and his offspring as usual. He trades pleasantries with the woman who he now thinks, will likely marry his son. A woman who loves the son he never knew and barely knows now as a man and he cannot rightly say he will ever be a father to. Vergil looks at the human woman who smiles so carefree and honest and thanks him with a bow of her head and he wonders.

Will she be the one to carry on Sparda’s legacy? Will she even care?   
As she shares the gift he’d given her to Nero, he feels his son’s stare on him and he meets it. A brief wonderment in easily read- his son lacks his own ability to hide his emotional state, but the look quickly morphs to a melancholic smile. They are not close, Vergil doubts they ever will be, but this he thinks, is good. It is a start of something that is not harmful, not painful not bitter and laced with fire from the past.

Dinner is a light affair, they sing to Kyrie, (off key he notes- his son and he also do not share this. He is reminded for all that Nero is his son, he is also the child of a woman who no longer knows), and Vergil leaves with a Tupperware full of vanilla cake. Dante’s portion, (twice the size as his own), he is told. 

That night marks the fourth time he runs into you. You are bent over, prone, making noises under a car. He wonders why before he recalls what Dante does to some of the stray cats that roam around his work- the ‘pspspsps’ and ‘kitty kitty’ he says trying to coax them out so the fool he is, can get scratched trying to take them to the vet for proper care. Vergil watches you do the same as his brother and understands that some human actions have no genuine rational basis- they’re simple stupid.

He said nothing, wondering how long it would take you this time to notice him. Not long, as likely your bad posture finally forced you to move, arm and knees dirty from pavement.  
“Come on-“ You muttered to yourself, “-nobody is gonna be able to help you if you keep running away.” Your words spoken only to yourself, he found himself amused nonetheless. 

“What are you doing?” He chose to make the first move, your doe eyes turning and facing him before his appearance registered. 

“Oh! Hey Vergil!” It somewhat surprised him, how easy you recalled his name. But then again, Dante was a regular at the diner and he assumed you too frequented it. “I uh-“ Pink dusted your cheeks as if he’d found you doing something indecent. If he had, he’d not have approached at all. Despite his physical interactions with members of the opposite sex, he did not seek out affairs that were not directly in conjunction with his own.   
“There is a kitten by itself under the car.”

He wasn’t sure why a single young cat would have one on their knees, prone to attack, making ridiculous noises, but then, it was also a ‘Dante’ like thing to do. Maybe he’d become enlightened. “So you are-“

“Trying to coax them out. The poor thing looks skinny and alone- most likely it’s mother was hit by a car recently.” It would be the logical thing to expect. “I can’t just leave them to die.”

“You wished to become a doctor.” He remembered. Then- “-Not a vet.” A joke at your expense, you snorted a laugh and he liked the sound. Not the bells of your usual laughter, but it too, was something melodic. 

“No, but, I guess I don’t like the idea of not doing something to help if I can.” You bent low, dirty knees further muddied as you tried once more to coax the likely dying feral cat from it’s hiding spot. He almost smirked when he heard you hiss and he saw a dark form running away. Blood in the air, a coppery tang he knew well from scent and taste.

You hand held marks fresh. Vaguely he recalled how often Dante’s hands would be the same when he also did this same stupid tactic. Humans were not very well evolved as a species. Cradling the scratches you tsked at yourself, free hand putting pressure on the new wounds.  
Your eyes flickered to him and he blinked. A fire, a spark of anger there. Brilliant in contract with your usual gayfulness and mirth. “I suppose you must think I deserved that.” He did.

“No.” He was a much better liar than his brother and his son. Your expression told him you doubted but you nodded you head in acquiesce. 

“Ah, don’t worry. I’ve got some antiseptic in my bag and I was on my way to the diner. They’ll probably have a spare band aid I can use.” Vergil didn’t think it would be much trouble for you to get there. He knew that the likelihood of you running into danger was low, that no demons were in the area. He was well aware that you did not require his aid or assistance. He was no medical practitioner. He usually would let his demonic blood do the work for him.

Yet he walked by your side to the diner, conversation light, centering on your willingness to be so foolish to aid a feral cat, on his future daughter-in-law’s birthday, on his age.

It occurred to him he was older by human standards. He wondered if it bothered you, if you cared. If you did you made no indication of it, you only admitted your own age, closer to his own than he assumed but not close enough to have made their companionship akin to normal. 

Sitting in the diner, across from you, watching you fumble to wrap your hand with the non-dominant one, Vergil realized something shifted in him these last months.  
“Let me.” The bandages were taken from you with minimal resistance, a pout on your face as he grasped your clean, disinfected hand and began the task of wrapping it. Around the wrist, through fingers, tight but not painful. Enough to staunch bleeding but not cut off circulation. He knew how- he’d done so when he was a child, learning to grip his blade even when demons sought to sever his fingers to cripple him. 

He found your thanks soft and gentle. He found himself marveling on the callouses on your fingertips, on the small scar around a wrist, the way your hands were so much smaller, daintier, fragile and weak in his own.

Vergil realized as your face was pink, that he was a man, and you a woman. The shift in him was something he’d known, he’d been trying to have, to gain with replicating human actions and words and adapting to a world he’d left behind a lifetime ago in pursuit of power. The shift was subtle, just as it also was like lightning; it was as his gaze drifted to your blush, to your lips, the way your hair framed your face and the way you looked at him, guileless, open, honest. You, full of ideals you knew impossible, hopes that the world would crush easily and a sense of goodness that frankly sickened him in how weak and foolish it was to have knowing what he did.

He looked at you and realized he was a man, sitting across from a woman he should, by all right, have nothing to do with. A stranger by all accounts. He was a half demon, a murderer, the being that had thrice over aided demons coming to the world you lived in, likely, who would one day cause people to enter your care when you’d take up your profession. He was a man who pretended he wasn’t a monster.

He found himself wanting to cut off your head, sever your spine, rip you apart till nothing was left because you smiled at him and asked him if he was hungry (he was).

He was a man, (he shared Dante’s portion of cake with you. He watched the frosting decorate your nose, watched you eat it in small bites and remark on the quality, offer to buy him a drink. He watched the way your eyes traced his own mouth, on how you averted his eyes, how pink turned to red and the flush ran from your cheeks down your neck to below the hem of your shirt. He wondered how far the blush went. How your neck might feel in his hands, how it might quicken your pulse, if you might gasp and make breathy sounds, airway constricted. He wondered if he could make you blush more. He watched you lick the fork clean, tongue pink and wet. He wondered how much sweetness lingered.)

He was a man and suddenly aware of his human nature overriding his demonic one. 

In the end his hunger didn’t abate. Not till he lay alone in his bed, hand around his cock, thrusting into his fist thinking of your eyes so innocent and unknowing of the demon you’d welcomed to your side.

His hunger left him when the ghost of your voice called out his name in that kind, warm tone he’d grown fond of.

Vergil blinked up at the ceiling, realization, dawning horror filling him with heat and things he’d thought he’d long since forgotten to feel, forgotten what to call, thought he no longer knew.

He said your name in the dark. A prayer. Supplication, reverence, awe, wonder- hope.

He was in love with you.


	2. Vergil wishes it were so easy- to wear a human skin. But he cannot. He was never human to begin with.

He looks at you, he realizes, without thinking who might see his gaze. 

He once was able to keep his glances aside, to cast his view only when he knew it would not be known, caught. He was skilled in hiding his feelings, emotions, desires and fears, but he also knows how telling certain actions can be. To seek out another’s presence and eyes is a sign of want, longing, it is an admission of feeling. He forgets this as his eyes drift to the booth he has now familiarized himself with knowing is your usual one. When he does not spy you there, his eyes flick back to his food, the mediocre salad and chicken he now orders each time he is at the diner. It is his 6th visit in total and the late night waitstaff has joked that he should come around more often with Dante.

He hopes not. Dante would assume too much, (he would be right).

Still, Vergil is left to mull over this development alone in his booth, fork picking out the chopped walnuts and attempting to leverage them on his fork alongside the greens. It is the best way to enjoy the dish.

He realizes he doesn’t know what you like to eat. He wants to know.

That night is normal, as far as the human standard goes. No demons seek blood and he’d spent his day mostly looking at the means to invest in stocks and perhaps expend some efforts in recovering artifacts to sell. Dante thinks it’s a bad idea but frankly, so long as they’re harmless, Vergil sees no issue with selling demonic trophies and magicless trinkets. Humans are easily fooled by artificial values anyway.  
A part of him also knows that he needs to plan for the future. Towards staying- he can’t reside with his brother forever, and he dislikes having to aid his brother with the re-occurring debt he’s under. 

He thinks also to what-ifs. 

He is living in a human skin now. Having a human’s life. Unlike his years in hell, he doesn’t fight for scraps of flesh, he doesn’t forgo sleep for days, he does not need to kill anyone who dares offend him. He could live a life without combat if he chose to, (he will not. He will not become his father who was complacent, who let it happen, who failed them. Vergil will not fall under such an illusion, will not allow himself to think he can afford to abandon yamoto. The sword is his lifeblood, an extension of himself- it will never leave his side, not unless he has been slain. Even then, he knows- it will belong to the Sparda bloodline. It bonded to Nero once, it will bond with him again once Vergil eventually falls to someone stronger. That is the way of life for a devil like him). 

Vergil tips the waiter. Cash. He felt himself grow restless when his thoughts drift to the changes in him, in how now you come unbidden to his mind, a siren who would lure him away from all he knows and has known.

Temptress, weakness, a fragile thing he could break and should run from, knowing full well the closer he becomes, the more he allows himself to dwell on you, the greater the pain shall be when he inevitable loses you. If to death, demons, or rejection. 

(He thinks how it will happen- how you, wanting to save lives will doubtlessly turn on him, knowing his nature, knowing that he is a part of the race that kills and consumed your own, a part of the kind that will one day make yours go extinct). 

He spends the next day looking at houses to buy. He avoids suburban homes. He avoids cities. He avoids anything near settlements and anything that would be close to other humans, be close to those who’d get caught in the crossfire should he be hunted. His choices narrow down to two homes. He likes the one near the beach, far from any cliffs and forests where danger would abound. It is expensive, but modest and the land is enough to buffer unwanted guests and visitors. It has rooms enough for Dante, for Nero and Kyrie, for a guest or, more likely, one day his grandchildren. 

The other house only has 3 bedrooms. It is a decision he makes in a day. Humans usually take weeks but he is practical. He doesn’t have many needs or wants. The house will be enough and he has money saved to afford it. What he doesn’t have is easy enough to gain with a few sales of demonic trinkets and corpses.

He is told it is unwise to sell what he does, Lady and Trish admonish him, reminding him how easy humans will buy things they do not understand. How such things can be used against them. Vergil dislikes their arguments, their appeals to empathy. The only sound reasoning he relents and goes to recover what he sells is their logic that certain items might be used to create hellgates.

Lady and Dante thank him for correcting his mistakes, even if he’s now effectively stolen from the very people he’s sold to. They don’t pry into his methods. He doesn’t tell them he’s killed the buyers. Killed the ones who’s homes come with collected memorabilia he is familiar with. Trish looks at him and he feels her eyes burning into his back. She came upon him after such action. She does not judge him for it, only asked he ensure it cannot be traced back to him or the others.  
A fair request. One he accepts and completes as necessary. 

Weeks pass, he visits the diner, he visits you. 

He doesn’t always sit away from you, casting glaces your way, taking twisted pleasure when he sees your eyes catching his own. He sometimes sits across from you, listens to your ramblings, your daily life. Sometimes he shares his own activities, (Buying a house. Visiting Nero and Kyrie. Bailing out Dante from trying to gamble against Lady. But never does he tell you of the demons. Of when he rips them apart, cuts them in half, when he seeks them out because sparring isn’t enough, it will never be enough. He wants to cut flesh and sever bone. He likes the way it feels, blade separating flesh from itself. The tang of blood and the death screams of the damns. He doesn’t tell you, he never plans to). 

Spring changes to summer. He never asks how school is- your text books change, rotate, but you struggle, he can tell. He does not ask because the stress is in how you purse your lips, how your brow furrows, how you hold the pencil as you jot down notes. He will not ask. You will tell him if he does, and if he knows, he thinks he will want to help.  
He cannot help. He cannot heal anyone but himself, (and even he cannot heal what he cannot see. He cannot heal some wounds that linger under his skin, wounds that fester even now).

He says he is content with this. That it is enough. Furtive glances, your blush and smile and laughter when you gift it on occasion. He tells himself it is enough, that it will sate his hungers, that it will quell the emotions and feelings in him and allow himself to pass for human, to pass for normal. His hand is fine. Imaginings of you sate him. His hunger will abate eventually. 

It does not. Not when he sees you blush and say his name with an airy lightness as you leave the diner with him, the glow of lamps illuminating your face, casting shadows as breath mists around you. He lingers. He lingers too long by your side, has stolen too much time near you, around you. Gotten too close, not close enough. You brushed past his dismissals, you ignored the danger he poses, the threats he makes, the hunger is ignored you lack all survival instincts, you lack self-preservation.

He nearly rips you apart when your lips press to his own. 

Every cell in his buzzes, hums, crackles with barely contained energy. His thoughts race as you smile and promise to see him next week. He could grab you take you with him. Secret you away like devils do to fools who walk alone at night. He could drag you to his home, lock you away. No one would find out. No one would know. You’d vanish in the darkness, another soul lost to and forgotten. He could keep you. Make you his, make you stay by his side. He could have you as he hungers. Sate himself, gorge himself. Your scent, your smile, your laugh, your eyes, your hands, your skin, your blood your bones for flesh in his hands in his teeth he could feast on your body and slake himself between your thighs over and over till you’d grow round and swollen with his seed. 

You are within reach, his hand reaches out-

He pulls back, walks away.

Vergil spends the next week killing. Demons, arcane summoners, hell beasts, perverts, monsters- he kills and kills and kills and all he sees is you. He isn’t human. He eats flesh and the taste is familiar. He knows he cries, the tears blood and salt as he carves up corpses, as he makes bodies so mangled they will never be identified as anything but gore and viscera. He hasn’t eaten human in years. He thought himself above it. It was the food of the weak, food for baser demons. Yet it slides down his throat, copper and hot. It settles low in his belly and the devil in him purrs at the flavor, at the burst of meat and fear on his tongue. Demon flesh is dark and rich and he devours it, giving him strength, fueling him, driving him to his next hunt, to the next place he knows he can kill and none can stop him.

Dante comes with the others in tow. They stare at him and fear him. They draw their weapons and he looks at them and wants to scream. He was never human, he cannot be human, cannot pretend. How can they judge him? How can they claim he is like them? He is not. He was not raised to be human, to pretend this is not what, who he is. He didn’t kill senselessly. He did not draw attention to his feasts. He did not do things they have not done. 

(He ate demon flesh. Drank human blood. Killed and enjoyed it. Took pleasure in fear and power)

It’s Lady who looks at him and knows. It’s her, human, tainted, who saw him before he lost what dregs of humanity in those finals moments and has seen his return, seen the changes, seen him try, (he’s tried so hard to pass, to blend in, to not become something that must be alone again, he doesn’t want to be alone again. He is greedy. He is greedy and he wants. Wants them. Wants fresh air, fresh water, wants sunlight and springtime and you. He wants you and your smile and your laughter and your kindness and your heart in his hands and in him and under him and he wants you.)

(He is greedy.)

(He wants what he cannot have.)

Lady knows. She calls him a coward. Weak. She never lowers her gun but in her eyes he understands. She will never call him human. She will never accept him as human. Ha cannot help his laughter because she is right. He will never be human. He cannot be human. His blood, his heritage, his life- it is beyond his reach. 

You are beyond his reach.

When he resumed his human shape he looked at pale skin, unmarked by blood. Human hands. Hands that can hold your own. Hands that have taken gifts from you, given trinkets in return. Passes drinks between you both. Hands that feel alien to him, but are still his.

“Are we allowed to be human Dante?” He asks. They cannot understand him- Dante can. He hopes. He is lost. He wants to be human sometimes. To have human things. To not want to feed on flesh, to drink blood, to kill for the sake of killing. He bought a house. He planned for grandchildren. He likes your smile and laughter. He likes the idea of you smiling for him.

“We aren’t human Vergil.” His brother’s voice is not edged with hate or malice or disappointment. It is sorrow. Understanding. His brother has wanted it too- to be human. To have what humans have. Even if it is a lie, a life of pretend peace, it is a better life than that of a devil. Than that of a half-demon.  
“We just have to try…to not become monsters.” He doesn’t like to be touched, loathes affection. He hates this weakness, this uncertainty. 

“Lets go home Verg.” His brother’s sadness is reflected in his eyes. Vergil and he never talk about it. They do not share the pain of not belonging. Of the struggle to fight back what they know lives inside them, of the hunger they will never be rid of.

Trish says nothing, but the voice mail she leaves on her phone is enough.  
‘Until you accept it, you’ll never have what you want.’

He wants.

Wants you. 

He wants your smile to be because of him. To laugh because of him. He wants to see you become a doctor, to see your dream become a reality. He wants to be by your side. Wants to know you- your favorite colors. Foods. Hobbies, habits. He wants to hold you and feel your heart beating against his own. He wants to make love to you, show you he can be gentle, he can be trusted. He wants what humans have and he wants that with you.

A week a killing, of eating, of being a devil and he slips into human skin again. Sits across from you, listening to you detail your trip to a grocery store that specialized in African cuisine. He wants to be human.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, hoping, wondering if you can tell he is a devil in human skin. If his blood is tainted and he will never be able to be fully human, never able to give you what humans have.

You blush, and answer him. “If you want.”

He indulges. 

It is soft. Brief. Not enough. But your face as it pulls away is soft, yielding, emotions are scattered in your eyes like stars and he wants to say so much, tell you everything. Confess the truth.

You leave the diner and kiss him again. His tongue drags across the seem of your lips and the gasp you make lets him in. He gets his first taste of you and knows he will grow addicted to it. He will crave it when he is away from you, when he thinks of you.  
Your number is in his phone, his number in yours. You make plans with him. You set a time, a place. He will pay, he will show you he can provide, he can give you the finer things humans like, that humans indulge in. He will lavish you, care for you, protect you and keep you safe. You are so normal, so human and vulnerable he fears for you as you walk home in the dark.

He spends the night killing all the demons in the city, ending only at dawn when he collapses at Dante’s door, and confesses he is afraid of you and the power you have over him.

His brother does not mock him like he expects. Dante just pulls him inside and hands him cheap beer. His words are loud as are his actions. 

“That’s what its like when we fall in love.”

They don’t talk about it. Not in so many words. Dante makes a guess, (he is right), and says only that he should understand that eventually he will have to be honest. That he will need to be both a demon and a man if he wants to keep you ‘permanently’. Dante says he doesn’t know how but-  
“I expect you’ll manage it.” He smiles at his brother, the man who just a week past killed and ate human flesh while on a rampage against a world not made for him. Vergil does not chalk it up to approval, he accepts it for what it is- a challenge to prove himself. To prove that he and Dante can have a life that is not alone.

In the days that follow he visits Kyrie and Nero. He sees them interact. Humanlike, but he sees Kyrie kiss his son’s arm, the one that can shift between nothing and a weapon at will. He sees her fuss over the wounds that he manages to land on Nero after their spar, tending to him even when his son is triggered- his heritage on display and demon blood still singing for violence and carnage. 

He watches Kyrie and Nero and hopes for them. He sees happiness in them. He understand it, wants such a thing for himself. It seems possible. It seems real.

“Nero.” They have eaten diner, and now, he stands across from his son, a man who is both a stranger and not. “Are you happy? Being like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“This.” Vergil’s arm swings to their home, the orphanage. The life his son has chosen. To slay demons and devils and protect humans. To save lives in the way only he can.

“Yeah.” It comes after a second of reflection. “It’s not easy but- I am happy here. Like this.”

Vergil nods and for a moment, he thinks he can understand his son. He thinks that while is is Nero’s father, and that he also is not- Nero has bridged the gap of devil and human better than he or Dante. It is not simply because he lacks demon blood, that it is somehow diluted, (Sparda blood still retains its value, it’s potency. Nero is just as strong as he and Dante. He knows this well enough, having crossed blades with both several times over). Nero has what Dante and Vergil covet- a human life.  
Human love.

So Vergil dresses like a man, he buys flowers and buys cologne and makes reservations at a place where the prices are not on the menu. Extravagance, luxury. He can afford it. He could afford more if he liked. He is not poor, not since he stopped footing the bill for his brother’s bad luck and gambling habits. He hopes you will like these gestures, these overtures. He has not dated before. He recalls a time when he was young, when he simply indulged in vices for the sake of curiosity and carnal satisfaction. Nero is the product of that. 

He calls and hears your voice, alight with excitement, tined from the electronic transmission. He wants to hear it in real time, wants to hear you say his name in person. He gets to when he arrives. When you open the door to your apartment, (he smells antiseptic. Cleaning solution. He does not think of it), your face is bright and pink and he wants to kiss you then and there. 

He doesn’t, he resists temptation and escorts you to his car. Opens the door for you. The banter is light, playful. He feels at ease with you there, snug in the leather of the seat, the faint scent of a floral perfume decorating your chest, armpits, neck, wrists.  
His mouth waters at the other scents that cling to your skin, of the musky feminine wetness he can taste in the air, faint but full of promise. He swallows the hunger back, smiles to you, and asks if you’ve ever been to the opera before. You haven’t.

He basks in the wonderment of your face, in the expressions you make throughout the show. He has seen it before with Nero and Kyrie- He has season tickets for when the mood strikes him. It is a good time and a pleasant experience to join his son and his future daughter. Tonight however the show is nothing but distracting noise. His eyes dwell on you, your face, your gasps and laughter and wonderment. Intermission he asks if you like wine, he brings you a glass of a white he likes. It is cheaper than most, and you blush when he catches your eyes drifting over his mouth as he swallows. 

The opera ends, you and he stand, clapping with the others and together, you depart. He cannot help the giddiness at your touch, at your arm snaking into his, as you walk next to him in the cool night air, as you hold his bicep and feel muscle when you think he might not notice.

Look, he wants to say. I can provide you with fine things. I am strong and rich and handsome. I am good. I am human. I can give you what you need so will you not accept? Will you not become mine? 

You flush at the restaurant of his choice, refuse to allow him to pay for everything.  
“I want to.” He looks at you, not willing to allow you to think you must match him, that you need pay him back when you have given him so much, (too much he might say. You give him too many feelings, too many thoughts, too many new hungers he cannot control). “So let me.”

You relent; he relaxes. Dinner is what some would call ‘fancy’. The plates are made to stand out, the food is overpriced. It tastes good, rich and delicate on his tongue. It is not a place he can see himself ever frequenting, nor, can he see you choosing it. It feels strange, not as intimate as he’d like. In a moment of pique he misses the diner and it’s cheap food and how close he can sit next to you.  
“Hey Vergil?” Your voice draws his attention, and he looks at you and hopes that he has pleased you.  
“Thank you. No one has ever… really taken me on a date like this before. I mean- to the opera or a fancy restaurant.” The red flush runs down your face, he traces it down your bare collarbones and sees it fade towards your chest.

The demon in him salivates and wonders if he suckled, would he taste milk? Or would he need wait till you were round with his child? He is a patient man. He can wait to find out at a later time.

“I want to please you.” The admission is easy, and yet your face seems shocked. “Are these things not what you do for the one you love?” He has known it for a time, but he has not spoken it aloud. He never felt the need to. Yet the sound you make, the red flush brilliant and bright. Lips parted in shock and awe and-

“You- you love me?” the question should not be a question he thinks. It should be obvious. He does not like these feelings, but he knows he must accept them, accept them so he might accept you, have you. 

“Is that really so surprising?” He cannot keep the slight hurt from his voice, the pain that he somehow has failed to communicate this to you, that he might have been lacking. But your blush and smile is matched with tears and a soft laugh.

“No. I guess- I guess not.” He offers his napkin and you blot your tears away. Dessert comes and he feeds it to you, making your shyness come to the front as others look on at the sight. Yet he doesn’t care. You take bites from his fork, you make pleased happy sounds at him, you indulge his little human mocking display and he thinks he is closer now, closer to you.

Dinner ends, he drives you home and as you stand in front of your apartment door, you cup his face when he bends down.

Your mouth is delicious. Sweet and warm and he takes his time tasking you, moaning into your mouth as his hands hold your hips, (perfectly fitting, so supple and wide and perfect to hold as he’d fuck you open. Your frame is just the right width to make birth easier. He wants it- he has decided. He will have you and breed you and become a father, this time more in just name).

“See you soon kay?” You end the kiss, he smells your sex, your want and desire and he growls as you pull back, wanting to taste more, (he is greedy as he always is). 

“Do not make me wait long.” You smile, eyes crinkling. Your goodnight is soft, the door closes and he hears the latch of the lock.

That night he howls your name in his bed, fucking into his fist, hips bucking wildly in the air as he pantomimes his dreams. He wants you there, he wants your warm body beside his own. He wants to drink your essence, have it coat his tongue and face. Feel your thighs around his head, his hips. Vergil’s hunger rages, behind his eyelids he sees your writhe and screaming his name, begging him for more. He sees tears in your eyes as he spreads your legs apart, as his cock delves between soaking wet folds of your cunt. Sees how your body swallows him up, skin stretching to take his girth, body yielding to his length. 

He shouts as he thinks how pretty you will look, crying, telling him to stop as he fills your womb with his come. How it will ooze from you, drip down and coat your thighs and the bed and allow him to fuck into you again, taking you like a beast. You will too- like a beast, like a rider, like a whore- he will bend you break you till your body gives you, weak and pliant and mewling his name as he fills you till bursting. Your body will take his cock, his seed, his love and his hunger.

He salivates as he thinks what your tears must take like. Salty, pure, and born of pleasure he will bestow upon you as only he can. As only a devil can.

Vergil gasps as his hips shake, as the coil in his belly unfurls, his cock limp and sheets ruined. He cannot help himself now, cannot deny the truth anymore- he collapses into his own filth, into the evidence of his lust and greed.

Love- love is what he thinks he has. What he wants. His eyes trace over your name on his phone. Tomorrow he will call you he thinks. Tomorrow he will ask you on another date.  
For tonight he will dream.  
Dream of having what humans have. 

Of having you in his arms, smiling and saying his name with love in your voice.


	3. You are like him in ways he never knew, and he is like you in ways that are new. He finds he does not mind this discovery. He does not mind such a weakness in being human.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW:Gore and Murder and Sex

Vergil took you on a few dates after that. Not always spending money, not always opting for opulence. Sometimes it was more simple, more… intimate. The park. Lunch at a café. The museum. The beach, (oh he really liked that date- all your skin in the sunlight, the shriek you made when you hit the cold water, your joy at the tide pools). Summer became fall and he and you sat in the diner, side by side soaking up one another’s warmth when the words came tumbling out.

“Would you love me even if I made a terrible mistake?” The question was unusual, and Vergil looked down at you, confused. He recalled no mistakes you or he had made in the courtship. He had held his lusts in check, (frustrating but needed. He would have you want him as much as he wanted you. He did plan to keep you after all). His mind tried to think- he could find no flaw, not beyond what was normal and expected for a human of your age and sex. 

“My love is not hinged on perfection.” He answered. “What brought this on?” It wasn’t like you to be prone to melancholia. But he’d be a fool to say he hadn’t noticed the moments you’d withdraw, the brief glimpses of sadness and loss there in your eyes. He disliked such moments, and would always feel anger at not knowing their source not being able to stop such things from causing your mood to lessen. He wanted only to see you smile, (even if he knew happiness and your smile could not be given endless). 

“What if-“ You sighed. “-what if I did something terrible?”

“Like what?” He could not fathom such. 

“What if I killed someone?” His blood ran cold. You would never. Couldn’t. Weak and fragile and so kind- you killing was unfathomable. Impossible, (not true, humans would do many things if the circumstances were right). He eventually connected the dots. 

“Ah.” He wrapped his arm tighter around you, pulling you to his chest, purring at how well you relaxed in his grip now, how you’d mold your body to fit against hit. “You think you might kill someone by accident. Kill them mid-operation.” You had advanced your studies. Your books thicker, the worksheets longer. You mapped the human body from memory alone and he marveled at how well you knew your own species. 

“It is good to be afraid.” He began. “It means you will be on guard to prevent mistakes. You won’t become complacent. Too much fear will cripple you, but no fear at all will destroy you just the same.” His lips brushed your forehead. “And even if you did, you’d have my forgiveness.” What did a human life matter to him? What did a stranger’s wellbeing matter? He did not know them, he did not care for them. He knew he should, that most humans had empathy for others, but Vergil wasn’t human to such an extent. He could understand you, his brother’s companions- but for the majority, Vergil still did not think highly of those around him. Dante told him it’d come in time. Vergil doubted it would come at all.

“…” Your silence did not comfort him, and when he kissed you several times over, eventually you mewled into his mouth, your thoughts forgotten, replaced by the flush he liked to bring about. He must have been smiling, because your pouted, pushed him away and called him a pervert. He was. He thought of you often. Of you naked. Of you crying in bliss. Of you in his bed and on his cock. Of you round and with heavy breasts proving how well suited you were for him. Oh he was very much a pervert.

“You like it.” He’d growl into your neck, teeth raking over skin, the heat of your blood making the demon in him drool, want to bite just enough for a taste. Maybe further along. You did make such sweet sounds when he’d nip and suck your skin there.

“Vergil- Please-“ Your hand fisted in his vest and he chuckled. So shy in public, he enjoyed the fact the booth afforded him the ability to cage you there, stop prying eyes. You should only be seen so flush by him, no one else should get to see you worked up, get to see you in this state- pussy growing damp, the musky female scent of your fertility tickling his nose.

“You’re delicious-“ The ring of the diner door distracted him, and you used it to pull away, teasing him as you coyly pulled strands of hair behind your ear. A tease. A minx. A little vixen. He would one day punish you for making him lust and yearn and hunger for you for so long-

“Vergil!” His brother’s voice killed any thoughts he had of you, and when he turned to face his sibling, he truly wished he could stab the man in public. Sadly, he no longer did that. It wasn’t normal. Plus people tended to think he actually meant to kill Dante. Humans did not understand certain demonic familial actions. “What you doing here- Oh. Ohoho!” He could feel a headache forming.  
“Didn’t mean to interrupt date night.”

You were a balm, shooing Dante away and placating him with your touch, your soft mutterings at how impossible his siblings was and how you and he would meet for brunch in a few days. Too long in his opinion but he’d take it. He also was granted another taste of you, tongue running over teeth as suckled before you pulled back, smiling. So coy, so alluring. You tempted his willpower.

He shot Dante a look as you and he left, daring his brother to say anything, give him any reason to stab him. Blessedly the man kept to himself, (if grinning). Promises of another date, another night together, a step closer to having you, being with you, being closer to human and not human- you needed to accept him before you could know him sadly. He did not think you would handle the truth of his heritage well until he was certain you felt for him as much as he did for you.

He felt. He craved. He wanted. Yearned. Lusted. Hungered. Desired. Greedy and jealous and possessive his devil saw you and wanted to violate you in ways that would kill you in more ways than one. His human half wanted to hold you, cherish you, keep you safe, keep you far from the horrors of the world and the dangers that lurked in the dark. He wanted to have you by his side- to be by your own. Hand in hand- lovers. Partners. He had plans and now, they involved you. 

He couldn’t have foreseen the truth. The mask falling away and you seeing him for what he was before he was ready.

But then, he never expected to see you either.

Blood coated your hands, up to your wrists. The man who lay prone on the ground was still alive. His entrails laid out beside him on the plastic tarp, blood pooling and congealing under him. You wore medical gear, disposable, gloves, a mask- but he knew you, knew your scent, your size, your gait and mannerisms. The mask did not hide your face, only prevented any stray blood from hitting your skin. It hit him as the scene was laid out, you were in the middle of killing the man. Various medical tools lay around you in methodical order. The man was still, and from the scent, Vergil surmised you’d drugged him and dragged him here. The divots in the earth told him that with certainty. 

Still as stone, you stared at him and he stared back. It was like time stood still, and he was an unwitting interloper to a secret you’d meant to keep.

Vergil’s cock grew hard as the realization sunk in. You were killing a human. You were gutting him alive. The more he saw the more he felt himself grow excited. You’d cut the man open in a way that allowed to keep him breathing and alive, vials and needles- drugs to keep him aware and awake as you cut him open. The man had skin peeled away at his face, muscle and sinew exposed to air, no doubt agonizing and burning with the wind. You’d removed many of his organs, kept them intact. The fact he was alive for it, was still alive? A testament to your knowledge, your skill. 

Vergil wondered why- he wondered if this was planned. It looked to be so, with the tools laid out, the plastic tarp, your gear.

“He will expire soon.” Vergil stood, watching, waiting. What would you do, what did you plan? There were no traced of demonic presence. No- this was murder. Plain, simple, brutal and beautiful murder. 

Your voice was cold. Empty. He disliked it immediately.  
“Unfortunately.” You blinked, staring down and your victim, as he wheezed and twitched. “He should have stayed alive longer.” Vergil can hear anger in your tone. The man in question was older. Much older. Perhaps pushing towards 60. His clothes spoke of modest wealth and he had the stink of arrogance lingering on him under the stench of blood and piss. “I wasn’t done yet.”

Vergil got close as he dared.  
“What did he do to earn your ire?”

It comes in pieces. In a story. 

You once were a student at the university, studying to become a doctor. When it came time for your work study, he personally made you an offer. He mentored you, offered you a chance to become employed right out of school. You had so little left, so little to test and pass before you could achieve your dream, you could begin to help, to save lives. But the man was like him- he was greedy. He was lustful. But unlike Vergil he would not wait, he would not show you his love and devotion and restraint. The man demanded you in exchange for your future.

You rejected him.

So he ripped you down. He killed someone, blamed you. Framed the death as your mistake. You were expelled from school, never to become a doctor, never to help heal or save lives. You were left in debt, in poverty, in loss and grief and social exile. You lost everything because you refused a man who coveted what was not his to have.

You survived. You stayed alive. You adapted. You wanted revenge. You tracked demonic crimes and activity. You studied harder, planned everything, slowly, slowly, gathered the supplies and materials needed. You left no trails, no evidence. Then he came. Vergil entered your life. Suddenly you questioned if you could do it. If you could kill while saying you wanted to heal. You doubted he would forgive you if he knew. If he might understand-

Vergil wanted to kiss you, fuck you then and there in the blood. You were human. So brokenly human yet so viciously demonic. Humans kill for revenge. But they often do not enjoy it, they do not plan it in such a way, they do not let their hate fester till is bleeds fresh every day. You were killing a man brutally, cruel, torturing him- you were utterly inhuman in the act. 

He truly, truly, loved you.

“I’m sorry.” Tears flowed from your eyes and Vergil closed the distance. His hands warm on your cool skin. “I love you so much and I- I lied. I’m killing him. I- I can’t save anyone.” You gasp as you weep, as you shake, trembling in his arms. “I’m a monster.” The irony is sweet to him. Bittersweet like your salty tears. He feared you’d never understand, never accept. Yet he smiles, he kisses you soft and tender. He understand your need to kill. The need to take back power stolen from you. To dispose of threats and dangers and revenge. He understands all of it. It is in his nature.

“What a pair we make.” His hands remove your mask entirely. He peels the protective gear away. “A monster and a devil.”

His power ripples through him, it breaks open his skin, armor hiding his flesh and bones becoming steel. Fire pours from his veins and wings break open from his spine. You gasp and pull away as his sin is shown, as the devil rears it’s ugly head. Yet you do not run away, you do not scream. You just stare at him. 

Two strikes of Yamoto and the body and evidence is pushed into the hellish abyss where it belongs. All the while you look to him in awe, in wonder and terror and something else mixed in.

“There were stories.” You reach out and he feels hands on his face, through the armor, though the bones and fire.  
“That to hunt devils, you had to be part devil yourself.” You’re cupping his face, tracing the lines of his jaw, of his eyes, of the horns and feeling what no human has ever touched. No one has been so near and unafraid. No one has touched him in this form with tenderness, with gentleness. It is alien to him. New. It feels and he feels- too much, but not enough. His blood sings. His hunger rages. You smell so sweet, so delicious. He wants to feast on you.

“You and Dante- you really are demons.” Your lips hit his face and he cannot control himself. He holds you close as he takes flight, as you scream in shock and fear as he takes you with him, as he gives into his urges. You’re not human. Not fully. Humans did not kill like you did. They did not calmly accept devils in disguise. They did not touch them with soft delicate hands.  
Humans did not kiss a devil and call their name when they reach the ground again, admonishing them for scaring them. 

Humans did not take a devil’s hand as he led them to their doom.

In truth, Vergil found it ironic. The woman he’d fallen in love with harbored such pain and suffering all while bearing a smile and gifting him her laughter. Her weakness and fragility a mask for a vicious thing that had cut apart a human in a manner he’d only seen mimicked by Mundus towards those who opposed him openly. He knew, on some level, you were a stranger again. That all he knew of you should be brought into question that he should pry, delve into how long had you planned around him. How you’d kept your resolve. Vergil knew he should ask, demand even, to know where and who the woman he loved was.

But there you stood in his foyer, looking lost, demure, and yet so so tired. 

Years spent to kill, all to have it happen then washed away through a portal to hell and then taken by a devil to his domain. What raced through your mind. What must you think of his secrets? Did you guess at his sins? Assume the truth of the worst of him? He should tell you, confess. Spill his truth out onto the floor and see if he could have you still. Dante had warned him- one day he’d need to tell you.

To think, it’d be like this.

“Now you know.” His voice melted back into more human tones. His skin returned to hide armor and bone. Hair replaced horns and he stood with the door to his back. You’d not escape him. Not tonight, never again. Either you would be his… or you’d be nothing at all. “Can you still say you love me now?”

The shocked face, the confusion-  
“How… how can you ask that?” Anger and rage, a brilliant fire. The same fire he saw in your eyes when you spoke of making the world a better place. A truth, hidden under so many lies. “I just- I killed a man and you want to ask me if I love you?” You laughed, tears falling down your face. “I KILLED him Vergil, I killed-“

“And you think I do not?” He closed the distance, hearing your heart racing in the otherwise empty room. “You killed a man who ruined your life- you told me you were not the only one. That he raped and used his power to get what he wanted. I kill demons.” He grabbed you hand. So small, so warm and delicate yet so deadly. So precise. Stained with lifeblood. “I’ve killed humans. Will kill humans.” He looked down at you, no longer hiding his intent, no longer masking the hunger that had so long raged in him.  
“So I ask- do you love me still?”

So furious, so conflicted. Humans held morals and thought poorly of murderers. They denied the hard truths of their own world and of survival.  
“You’re a bastard.” Your words are hateful, anger. He accept it then. You will not be his. Not the way he wants. Not the way he hoped. He feels too much, wishes he could feel nothing at all-

And yet you kiss him. Teeth hitting teeth and you kiss him with fervor, tongue and lips demanding and tasting him- he growls at your greediness, his hands do not know where to go until they do- pulling back up on your shirt, you gasp and he uses the opportunity to remove it entirely, bra and breasts exposed he doesn’t stop. 

The second kiss is just as heated as the first, just as greedy but now he is ready, now he can take control. Guiding you closer, pressing you to his body. Satisfaction rolls through his body when he grips your backside and lifts, your legs wrapping around his torso- a prelude to his desires. 

“I love you.” You gasp, still weeping. Mourning he thinks. Your morals, your humanity. It is scarred now. Tainted. Not whole. You are like him. Marked other. Marked- and a match for him. “I love you so much and I’m scared and-“ You cling to him as he walks to his bedroom, keeping his hands on your rear, relishing the fullness, the ripe flesh he will indulge in tonight and many nights to come. 

“I should be scared. I should feel guilty- afraid.” Doe eyes stare up at him and Vergil feels something click.  
“But knowing you’re you- I don’t feel any of that.”

He made quick work of your pants and underthings. There will be time for a slow seduction another night. He can take his pleasure picking you apart in the morning. No- tonight he needs you. His hunger has been put off so long it will be this, it has to be this.

His vest and shirt are tossed somewhere in the room. He doesn’t know where they landed but something was knocked over. He makes note to deal with it in the morning- Your soft mewls and breaths spur him to strip faster, and when he catches sight of your flush body, he knows he will not be able to stop himself from breaking you. 

The blush he once wondered how far it goes he now has an answer. All down your neck and chest, your breasts are fuller than he expected, weighed down just so by their own size. He adores it- they fit into his hands, mold perfectly to his expectations. Your nipples are darker, swollen with arousal and he notes, haloed by a perfect areola. He could fuck between the valley of your breasts, suck them till you cried and your nipples were red. Another night he thinks. Another night he will take his time and make you reach completion from your breasts alone. Tonight he just grasps them, moans as he feels their softness, as he gets to finally feel what’s taunted him on dates and on summer days.

Your body is everything he’s wanted. Everything he’s craved. Your hips are wide- your legs will spread open for him perfectly- he will slot between them and fuck you into oblivion with ease. Not to mention the soft give of your belly. Such signs of fertility, of being perfect as a vessel for breeding. Were he a demon king still you would be a crown jewel in his harem he thinks. A supple woman made to bare him heirs and offspring to better conquer and rule the demon world. Perhaps he will do just that. Spend a few years keeping you plump and round- breed you till be has a sizable litter to ensure his rule would go uncontested. Nero is a good, strong son, but he is not filial. You could change that.

Vergil kisses your knee as he lifts your leg up. He can see fine hairs, marks of imperfections as humans would say but to him they are signs you are not vain. That you trust him to come bare and unrefined- to offer yourself up without trying to hide your perceived flaws and blemishes. Your skin is still smooth, your legs long and he can feel the muscle in them. Your thighs plush he will enjoy having them wrapped around his head, his hips- he would make a throne for you, and have it be his face. The scent of your cunt is heavy now, wet and musky and female and fertile. Heaven help him he will seed you. To pull out would be a crime. Your body is practically begging for it with how wet you’ve become.

“Be mine.” The words are husky, breathy. He knows he is standing at the edge of a cliff. A point of no return. If he has you there is no going back. No more holding back, no more denying himself, no more letting you walk away.  
No more being alone.  
“Be mine.” It is a question, a plea, a demand all at once. He stares down the line of your body, knows he feels for you, feels so much too much, too deep, that you are a weakness. You’ve become a dagger in the dark ready to slip between his ribs and into his breast. He could take you without an answer. Could take you without asking- but it would not be the same. It would not be real, not be honest and true and last. He wants it to last, he wants you, it, everything to stay. He asks again.

“Be mine.” He sees you, sees your smile, tainted by sorrow, by your angst at the loss of your humanity, at the innocence of living without having bloodstained hands. He sees your sorrow- and the smile. You understand. You know. 

“Yours.” Your hand covers the one on your hip, guides him closer till he sinks into you, till fire races through him and he feels his breath gone. “I’ll be yours.”

Vergil throws his head back in reverence, in bliss. Your body is warm and wet and welcoming- your passage slick, yields to his girth and length so beautifully. You’re no maiden, he knows, but you feel it. Your cunt stretches around him, your walls flutter as he molds them to the shape of his cock. Tight but not arduous to fill. There are no sounds of distress, pain, or discomfort from your lips. Just soft sighs and breaths, little ‘ah ah’ noises and ‘oh’ as he sinks in, as his hips become flush to your own, and he can feel his balls rest against the curve of your ass. So tight, so wet and slick and sweet scented. He is deep in you, he knows he will need to be deep to seed you proper, to mark your body inside and out. 

You will be branded as his, you’ll carry evidence of him inside you, just as he will carry you with him, in him as well. That is love is it not? Sentiment? Feelings? Human emotions you’ve branded upon him- he will brand a devil’s seed in your empty womb.

“Vergil.” His name on your lips, the blush and tears and soft sounds you make as he shifts his cock, as he feels you clench down, body wanting friction. “Please.”

His hips snap forward, your cry is shock and pleasure at once. He cannot help the pace he sets. He’s dreamed of this, of fucking you in his bed. Dreamed of making you cry out his name and weep from the pleasure he’d inflict. The slap of skin to skin fills his ears alongside the wet squelch of your cunt as it swallows him to his root. The sounds you make go from soft little gasps and mewls to sharp plaintive cries of pleasure. Your little ‘ah’s and ‘oh’s become pleas, begging words to entice him, for more, for less, to cease and to continue. Contradictions he adores as your cunt milks him, body ready, open. He wonders if he reaches deep enough, will he feel the spongey sticky wall of your cervix? Will it yield to his demon seed? 

His hand pushes down on your torso, over he spot he wants to see swell, the place he hopes will accept the proof of his devotion, of his want for you by his side. Only you will bare him children, only you would he trust with a legacy. 

The pressure makes you keen, whine as he feels his cock through your body, muscles clenching down as he fucks into you and drives you into an orgasm. Your nails rake at his arms, you cry out his name and whine, reaching for him, yearning, longing- his torso is out of reach and your mouth opens and closes, begging for kisses he withholds. 

Tears decorate your eyes, jewels glittering in the light, salty he scents them mixing with the sweet tang of your pussy and the heady musk of fornication. You are unmade, a woman debauched by a devil and yet you reach out towards him in supplication, asking for more, for him, for his embrace.

He gives it.

His hips do not still, the rock into you with deep strokes, fucking you through your bliss as he forces you towards another crest. You cry openly, telling him it is too much, that you cannot handle it, cannot take anymore- but that is a sweet lie. You body milks him with vigor, your pussy gushes as he fucks your hard enough to feel the splatter on his own thighs. The slap of his testes against you is a twisted feeling marred with feral satisfaction. Rough, deep, hard- lewd and carnal he ruts into you as you cling to him, screaming his name into his otherwise empty house. No one will hear you but him, none will save you from the devil you’ve welcomed to your bed, your body.

Vergil thrills when you orgasm a second time, back arching, breasts thrust up on display followed by whimpers and mewls of helplessness as he refuse to allow you rest. 

He will find his release inside you. He will mark you like a devil. He’ll make you his demon bride. His queen. He, the once demon king will enthrone you, your seat will be his lap and your scepter his cock. You will rule all from under him, over him, on top of him, him inside out and around you- you’ll be his love, his queen, his wife- and he will do as you command. He will raze this world for you, make this world a better place all for you he thinks.

He will give you your dream. You have given him his own.

Your body is worn, unable to keep up with his stamina but he doesn’t mind. Vergil muses how he likes this. You, so tired from coupling that you become pliant and needy. Whimpering and begging not for touch but for kisses. It is cute- not a word he normally entertains but as you simper so sweetly with ‘kiss me, please, kiss me. Want you, kiss you, Vergil please-‘

He adores it. He adores you. 

Your kisses are soft and light, you let him take all he wants and he takes much, greedy devil he is. His hands lift your hips, earning a fresh cry and wave of tears from you, again your voice is breathy, soft ‘ah ah’ and ‘oh, oh Vergil’ spoken to the wind as he thrusts down, as he feels something give- as your eyes flutter, as your pussy clenches hard- Your third orgasm, his first.

Silky walls pulsate around him, coaxing his seed down into your body, milking him for every drop he can give. His balls tight to his body, they rest against your slick and sticky ass, and he feels them twitch as he fills you, as he satisfies the primal urge to breed you, mark you, claim you as his own.

Vergil can’t help the salf satisfied growl he makes when he holds your body there, letting your inner walls and gravity send the proof of his devotion to your once empty womb. He doesn’t keep track how long he holds the pose, how long he keeps you bent like that, only that he can feel his come unable to go further, feel it push back around his cock till it drips out your abused hole.

By the time he pulls away, you are half fainted, flush with exertion, sweaty and sticky and reaking of sex. When he pulls back he cant help the satisfaction he feels when only a small trickle of his seed escapes your body. Receptive, welcoming- you truly do love him, to take so much from him on your first coupling. Your hand opens and closes, and he smiles, lacing his fingers there, feeling you hold your hand in his as he lays by your side. The bed is filthy, sticky, it reeks and yet he will not change the sheets or clean you. He wants to lay in it, wrap himself in the evidence of what has transpired. Such human mundanities can happen come dawn. 

“Vergil.” His name is softly spoken. “Vergil- Vergil Vergil please-“

He knows. He knows what you want, what you cannot say.

His kisses are soft, gentle and tender and he says your name in reply. He says what he knows is true now, what is real. He loves you. You’re his now. Forever. You will never have to be alone, never have to worry again, to fear again. He loves you. You love a devil, he cannot be human, but he will be human enough- for you. Only for you.

The sign you make is tired, affectionate as your hands find his hair, brushing through the white strands.  
“I don’t care.” You’re tired, he can hear it, he also cannot blame you- he is fully aware that he was demanding in your coupling. “You saw what I did.” The huff is gentle, light and teasing. “If you can love me still-“ Your pull him down, hold him close. It’s hot, sticky, somewhat uncomfortable. 

“I love you Vergil. No matter if you wear a human skin or not.”

He stays there like that. Unmoving, he feels you relax, fall into slumber half under his weight and with sex lingering on skin. As you sleep, as your hands lay lax on his body, Vergil feels himself grow loose, he feels the onset of sleep and as he curls into your body, tucking you into his own, till your form is molding with his own he feels wetness on his face as he smiles into the crook of your neck.

You will love him. You do love him.

He hopes you will love him still come dawn.


	4. Dreams are impossible things. Things he has long accepted he cannot have. Yet you exist. You are in his arms. Of you, he dreams.

It is the first time he thinks, that he has woken up with a warm body in his bed since his return to the human world. He had taken others for brief relations. Simple pursuits of fornication with protections, only used and cast aside for a pursuit of temporary relief from urges. Never allowed to stay, to be embraced, to kiss or touch. Those had been fleeting actions used only to alleviate his baser needs. 

Yet when he wakes, dawn not yet breaking over the horizon, he feels you tucked into his side- skin still sticky with dried semen and sweat, the room still stinking of fornication and debauchery. He will need to open the windows later in order to air out the room and have the sheets changed and cleaned but... He had forgotten how intense sex could be, how… enjoyable it was and how easily one might become lost within it. He remains there, laying still, breathing slow and languid as you remain slumbering, as he feels the rise and fall of your chest and warm breath brushing over his skin. 

He doesn’t recall the last time he woke up, not feeling any pressing need to get up and eat and clean and begin his day. He has followed a ritual every morning as long as he can recall, he has always woken up tense and armed and aware of his surroundings. He sighs against you. You’ve thrown him off. He should be the same. He should assess his home, the area, ensure nothing followed him home last night, nothing caught the scent of a devil’s sin and debauched breeding. But as he lays in bed with you, he basks in the sticky filthy and warmth your body provides. A tiny part says it is disgusting, sleeping in the leavings of sex and having not bothered the basic task of cleaning the night before. But a larger part of him simply… does not care. 

He curls back into you, he smells your hair, the scent of you, under all the old sex and musk of lusts and demonic spend. Your scent is good, it is you, and his eyes close the thought strikes him.

You smell like warmth.

You smell like safety.

You smell like coming home.

When Vergil wakes again the sun is low in the sky, dawn past, the day begun. You are no longer in his arms and for a moment his awareness spikes. His mind races as he seeks you out- you are not in his room. Your scent is not stale but it is also not fresh. There are no demons nearby, no blood or bile- the sound of rushing water comes and he recognizes the steady drops of the shower, the hiss of the drain. Faintly, the smell of his bodywash emanates from his bathroom and he slightly relaxes, hand no longer hovering over yamoto. 

He will allow you leavings his side early for the shower, as sitting up he feels the flakes of old spend fall from his skin and the sheets cling to where they should not.

He however, admires how there are a few tiny indentations left on his forearms from when you gripped him just hours ago. Testaments to your ferocity and own desires as he took you to his bed, as you took your place by his side.

It makes him smile to himself.

The door to the bathroom is unlocked and he does not bother with knocking or announcing himself. He simply walks in, your startled gasp and modesty shown as he sees you jump behind the shower door, hands over your breasts and sex.

“Vergil!” You blink at him, soap rushing down your body, hair wet and he thinks, pretty as it sticks to your skin. He smirks at how modest you act, even after having known him intimately, biblically. He has already mapped your body, memorized every curve and slope and soft peak and valley. You cannot hide from him- it is too late for that now.

Your sounds of surprise and protestations fall on empty ears as he opens the door and joins you under the heated spray of water. There is room, he needs to wash as well, and he is loathe to be separated from you, even if just by a panel of glass.

“We both need to get clean.” His hands steal the cloth you’d been using, applying the body wash anew as he lathers it. It is his preferred scent, and he’s pleased to bathe you in it. Next time Dante sees you, Vergil hopes he picks up on it. “There is nothing I have not seen before.” Your back to his chest, he runs the cloth over your shoulders, rubbing, coaxing you to relax, to accept vulnerability within his presence, to allow it with him. “There is nothing I have not tasted from you before.”

Your blush was present even under the hot water he noted. Delightful.

Still, he enjoyed it- you were shy and yet demanding with him under the shower spray, letting him run soap covered hands over bare skin, brushing over breasts which he groped and arms he caressed. When he ran the cloth between your legs you gasped and leaned back into him legs spreading in invitation- but he had no designs for further copulation. He simply wanted to feel you, clean you, bathe you fresh. Savor this vulnerable state of being that you allowed him to witness to take part of. 

He kissed your hip, your torso when he knelt to wash your legs. Eyes lingering over your womb before he glanced up, noting your own gaze widen as you must have realized the implications of your night spent writhing upon his cock.   
Unless you were on medications he did not know of, your fertility was intact and his seed would take- but he would indulge you and he both with further nights of copulation and breeding to ensure a positive result. He dearly hoped you were amicable to carrying his offspring so soon- he wanted an excuse to stay by your side more frequently and hopefully progress your status to his wife within the year. 

Truly he felt you already were his and he was yours- but humans he knew had odd traditions and convictions over unions. Marriage was not done overnight typically. Demons simply took and chose and did not care for such titles. But it mattered to you, it mattered to people like Dante, his son- and he knew it mattered to him too, even if he also wanted to deny it. 

Getting to call you wife would be a very welcome thing.

“I love you.” The words were spoken there as he knelt on shower tiles, looking at through wet bangs and soapy clouds on your body. Out of place, they were words better confessed with rings and romance- yet your gaze softened, your body yielded fully and went pliant and relaxed as he resumed washing you as if he’d said nothing at all.

Once he no longer could scent dried sex on your skin he handed the towel back to you, humming as you began the process of coating it in body wash, lathering it, and turning to face him, your back to heated spray, your body to his. You washed his skin with the same reverence he’d shown your own. Your gentle caress and ministrations so foreign to him. He’d never had a lover bathe him before, never washed with another- yet he allowed it with you, wanted you to do this for him. 

He wanted to lay down and let your hands run over him forever. 

He felt you reach up and begin washing his hair and he knew he growled in pleasure at the touch. It made you pause before you scraped nails against his scalp, earning a deeper sound from his chest. The chuckle, so faint had him smile. He had not meant to express his content with inhuman noises, yet it hadn’t perturbed you, only momentarily disarmed you. So accepting, his beloved.

Beloved- yes. That was what you were to him. Beloved. His loved one. He would call you such from now on. 

Your instructions to rinse were followed and he smirked when your pressed the front of your body to his, not helping to wash away the grime from the prior night but rather to ‘wash’ his ass- groping him as he’d done to you. Such a tease. Such a minx. He liked it, and he smiled when you looked to him knowing. 

By the time your hands washed his cock he was hard and he moaned loudly, the sound echoing in the smaller room and you coaxed him to completion under the hot water and his seed was left wasted. It was fine he consoled himself. He could and would produce much more for you- in that factor, he could amply provide. 

By the time you both had finished bathing, the hot water was tepid, and the steam fast fading.

Still, he basked in the lingering warm air, smiled as you wrapped yourself in too big of towels and dried off. The smile on your face was a happy sweetness, the pink not just from the hot shower but your own satisfaction. He drew that from you he thought, he had coaxed your smile into being.

How he loved the knowledge that such a thing was in his powers to gain, to grant. He would not be merciful- his greed was boundless when it came to you, your smiles.

The soft kisses you and he shared in the bathroom, curling a towel around you both was evidence to that.

“I uh- didn’t know where your wash machine was so I uh-“ Your gaze moved to a pile of clothing- a shirt and drawstring sweatpants, a pair of boxers with an elastic band. Stolen from his dresser. You must have been very quiet, for he hadn’t heard any of it. 

“It is fine.” He nuzzled into your damp hair. “I’ll get Nero to procure something for you later.” His son would do so with minimal intrusion. He might protest and be enraged to discover your liaison with him, but his son was tactful and courteous. Unlike Dante who’d pry. 

“No no, it’s fine- I’m sure a quick wash will be-“

“We’ll burn your clothing from last night, get rid the last of the evidence.” You stilled, and he realized his mistake. It had been your first time taking a human life. Unlike him, you were freshly bloodied, not yet used to the feeling of death, of being the arbiter of who would fall to your power and who would be spared. He did not sign nor show he worried- he simply turned and handed you the clothes.

“I will not allow anything to happen.” Your doe eyes were watery and he frowned. He did not want you to cry- the human was not worth your tears. You already had cried enough last night. He only wanted tears of passion, of joy and happiness. No more tears for dead men. For lost humanity. Vergil’s thumb wiped them away as you pressed your face into his hand.   
“No one will find out- and even if they do, I will not allow you to fear reprisal. You are mine.” His expression must have been less human than normal, because you choked out a laugh at his expense. 

“You can’t kill everyone if people find out Vergil.”

“I am a demon.” He could. “I once ruled the demon world as it’s king- and I only ever lost because I had nothing worth protecting.” He and Dante had discussed it- had he something worth saving, worth keeping while he was Urizen… likely Dante and Nero would have lost. Both a terrifying and thrilling truth all things said.   
“Now I have you.” You looked at him, lips set into a pout as your mind turned. “If keeping you safe means killing everyone in my way?” You blink and he smirks. “I would.”

Your surprise is mired with wonder and curiosity. You do not run or stink of fear. There is apprehension, wariness- but not fear. You trust him.

He knows he is only worsening his condition. His love for you is deepening. How pathetic, how weak. 

He will have his revenge later tonight he decides- you’ll need to properly learn what it means to be the bride of a demon king, how to please your ruler and husband to be. He will show you the same, it is only fair after all that he show his bride and queen what it means to have a king’s devotion and love.

“Still, killing everyone seems a bit excessive.” As you dress Vergil realizes you are teasing. 

“I will kill anyone who opposes then.”

“What if God opposes?” He pauses. He has never fought the divine before. Fallen angels yes- he’s defeated them by the dozens.

“Then I will simply seek the power needed to kill God.” The shirt is too big, the pants too long and the boxers barely staying on you for modesty sake. He adores it- you wearing his clothing. He will have to ask you to indulge him at some point- the idea of you naked in nothing but his coat is tantalizing, (it makes him salivate just slightly at the thought of you, naked save his coat, lounging in his favorite chair awaiting his return from a successful hunt. His beloved, ready to reward him for doing good- for putting weak demons in their place and reminding them just who is the one that would be their king should he ever return). 

Your smile is warm if touched by a light melancholy as he leads you to the kitchen. He will profess his love in as many ways as a demon can as often as needed. You will never need fear for killing- for revenge or justice. Power is absolute- that is the rule of hell, of the demon world. It is the rule of men too. Men wield power with blood and death but also with money and words. Thankfully, Vergil is keen to the ways of men now and he is not lacking even slightly in these aspects. 

Breakfast is a… strange affair. You insist on helping him. He doesn’t want you to- he wants to pamper you. To provide, show he can dote upon you. He saw the bruises he left behind on your skin in the shower- he sees your lingering fatigue. His hunger was voracious, and you should be resting, recovering from your first night in his embrace. But you persist, yanking pans from his hand and tersely informing him how he can’t do everything himself, how just because he is a ‘big strong demon’ doesn’t mean you’re a fragile thing.

Your words ignite him.

He spends half the morning by your side cooking, then the other half under the table between your legs, gently enjoying the sweet nectar he draws from you, soothing the ache of last night with his tongue.

It is by far the best breakfast he’s had in years.

Dawn ends, the day begins. As expected, Nero is enraged to discover your ravishment and his task to procure you clothing if just for a short while. Vergil notes to thank Kyrie later- it was her voice in the background reminding his son that you and he had been seeing each other for a time, and he wasn’t exactly a good planner when it came to thinking of consequences. 

Granted he’d rather not have told his son of his carnal relations, but, some things cannot be helped. Plus there will come a time when likely Nero will know you as his mother. Step mother? Maybe. Vergil has yet to hear the man call him father outside of exasperation and annoyance. He won’t press the matter anytime soon but he does hope Nero likes you at the least. You know of Nero and he of you-

How strange, to worry if his son will approve. If Nero does not then Vergil will just have to beat some sense into him. Besides, technically speaking he has not given Nero his blessing to marry Kyrie. The woman is far too good for his immature son anyway and to allow herself to be wasted on the boy would be just that. He is only being kind and monogamous, looking out for the defenseless woman. He will give them his blessings when his son is ready for them, (more likely, his son will take another few years to grow the balls to propose. Another thing he will need to beat into Nero’s skull soon. He likes Kyrie- she will be a good daughter-in-law. Good for his son. She is also strong in ways that humans are and demons are not- Sparda’s line will remain strong with her.)

“You…” Your voice cuts through his thoughts and you sit on his couch, legs curled under you. The sweatpants are left in the dining room- he’ll get them later. “Should I expect this a lot?” His confusion must be clear because you elaborate for him. “Being um… extremely uh-“ Your eyes travel south and he feels heat unexpectedly. He didn’t realize he was still semi hard under his own pants. 

“Being aroused?” He asks, noting your eyes moving away, blushing and playful. 

“Or is it more because um… we just hooked up?” As Vergil sits by your side he pauses and knows he has no real answer for you. This is new to him. He knows he wants, he is greedy, but now that he has you… 

“I want to fuck you until your throat is hoarse from screaming my name.” His arms pulls you to his chest, the rapid pace of your heartbeat felt against his body. Hot and electric. “I want to bend you over this couch and watch your pretty cunt swallow my cock- see you dripping with my come and marked from our passions.” Your body leans into his. “Making you mine, marking you, rutting and fucking and breeding till your body’s scent changes and mixes so any demon would know who you belong to.” He kisses the crown on your head- you still smell like his body wash and he likes it.   
“But I also… want this.” He holds you against him. He is hard, aching, but he doesn’t feel a pressing need to be inside you. Only a want, a simmering thing that is just below the surface warm and welcoming. 

Your silence is contemplative before the conversation continues. “Its… surreal.” You begin.

“I killed him. I killed that bastard and I know I should feel bad, guilty- I felt sick earlier when I thought about it but right now I just… don’t… care? I hated him for so long, planned it, did it- and now it’s done. I should be afraid, should be worried but I’m not. I’m… here. With you. I feel safe and you’re a devil and yet-“ You shift, tilting, looking up at him.

“This isn’t normal. It’s definitely not healthy.”

“It isn’t.” he knows it’s not. Humans don’t act like this. Accept murder and death so easy.

“What does it say about me?” There is humanity- broken and shattered. It is alright if it lingers. Your humanity is part of what he loves of you- if it is broken he will help you mend it to something new. You will learn in time, learn what it means to love and live with a demon, what morals he has and what he lacks. Vergil is patient when he wants to be, (he will be, for you).

“…It says you are a survivor.” You are. You have a sound mind, you can recognize the pain and trauma of murdering your own kind. Soon, you will break down and he will comfort you. “When your mind catches up to what you’ve done you will react like many. Anger, fear, rage- you will cry, and while I won’t like it… It is human.” He sighs.

“I only wonder if you will regret choosing me.” The shift is immediate. Your pushing off his chest, out of his embrace. Anger in your eyes, fire in your hand as you grip his shirt. 

“I don’t.” Tears again- hot and angry. Vergil is not sure why this time. They make no sense. “I love you-“ You suck in a breath. “You’re the best thing that could have ever have happened to me.” More tears, he’s not sure why or how to stop them. His hand hovers over you, uncertain. “And not just because you helped me get rid of the body, asshole.”

You shove yourself into him, hard. He feels it, a soft ‘oof’ leaving him as he’s unexpectedly holding the majority of your weight. Vergil is left once again at a loss- he doesn’t know what just happened, but if he were to guess he assumes you took offense to his questioning your devotion to him, your choice to become his? 

The idea is pleasing but he will refrain from making such an assumption for now. Time will tell.

“You’re heavy.” Is all he can say after a while of laying there like that. Your knee is pushed against his side, jarring and slightly uncomfortable. 

“That’s rude.” Is all he hears, muffled as you speak against his chest.

“Your knee is jabbing my side, and while I like holding you, this is not the best position.”

Your head peaks up at him, pink and coquettish. “Oh?” You move, a leg swinging over his lower body and he’s suddenly aware that your bottom is clothes only in a loose pair of boxers and he can feel the heat of your pussy through his own sweats.

Whatever expression he makes must have been pleasing to you, because you laugh- full bright and loud before kissing his nose.

“I love you-“ The soft gaze, the way you lean forward, breasts plush and up against his torso. “-You’re so reserved and private, but you’re thoughtful and kind. Courteous and aware- you notice little details and you don’t push when it’s too much. Every time you smile, I feel like I’m privy to a secret, something rare and precious. When you laugh it’s soft and genuine and your eyes get this batch of lines that show your age and how handsome you are. You care so much even when you don’t say it.” Your hands lace behind his head as you sigh, curling to his neck, whispering into his skin there.

“I just realized… You’ve probably been telling me you love me for months and I’ve just been too stupid to notice huh?”

He frowns. “You’re not stupid.”

“But am I wrong? That you’ve been telling me you love me for a while? Even before we dated?”

He doesn’t answer, but he feels his entire face get hot. Embarrassed. He doesn’t like it. This teasing. You clearly cannot be trusted with the truth.   
“I only told you last night the extent of my feelings.”

“So I am right.” You giggle into his ear. “You were in love with me but I just didn’t know it back then.”

“I thought I was clear enough- there was no reason to say so before we began to date.” 

“Did you plan to tell me- about being a demon.” You pause. “Half demon?”

“If things got further along- I did not wish to… entrap you.”

“…What if I like being trapped by you?” You are trying to kill him. To think, he would have you as his wife- and yet here you are, testing his control, practically begging him to break that body on his cock right then and there.

“It is not too late to escape.” He will only keep you if you want to stay. He wants you happy- and if keeping by force would sadden you…

“…I’m glad then.” You kiss his neck, work your way down his jaw to his lips. Soft, feather light. “If I had to get trapped by a devil, you’re by far the best devil I know.” You laugh lightly of your own joke, not knowing just how many demons and devil would kill to make you theirs. How many would fight to have a woman as half as good as you by their side. 

“I can’t help but wonder if you’re trying to entice me.” Vergil chooses to tease, to make light of it- but then your hips swirl and he feels his body shudder. 

Temptress.

“Vergil?” Your gaze is soft, but he realizes, while there is love there, there is also something else. Lust he realizes far too late. You lust for him. Even sore and still recovering from the revelation of his nature and your crime you lust for him.

You, he thinks, really do love him. Completely. Devil and all.

“I know we’ll need to have an actual conversation about it but-“ Your lips brush his ear. “For a demon king who paid such close attention to my body last night and earlier today… I can’t help but notice how empty my pussy is.” He hates you. He should never have let you see his gazes and known his covetous touches. You’re going to kill him, or, get yourself killed playing with his control like this.

“And I can’t help but notice… how you seem to want to get me pregnant.” He is going to kill you.

The knowing smile is cruel, playful as your hips swirl again.

“Want to know a secret?” You lift up and the shirt hits the floor, a soft thud. “If that’s a demon thing… I don’t mind.” Your breasts are lush, and he swallows down hunger, his urge to suck and bite. “In fact.” Your body arches and Vergil feels the dampness of your pussy though cloth.

“I kind of want you to get me pregnant too.” 

Vergil isn’t sure what happens first. Him breeding you, bent in half on his sofa, screaming at him to fuck you full of cum… Or Nero walking in on the scene and screaming that he’s never doing him a favor again. 

All in all he’s not unsatisfied. By mid-afternoon you’re in a very pretty sundress with his seed still sticky and fresh in your cunt, walking through his garden like he hasn’t debauched you and you don’t have a slight limp from being bred so thoroughly. Nero was still yelling at him, telling him how he can’t just kidnap you and suddenly have this kind of relationship and ‘not tell him about it’ and then ‘demand he just accept it’. Something also about clearly not caring for consequences of his actions?

Nero makes the same face he and Dante made as children when told something unpleasant. Perhaps telling his son that he knows exactly what will happen if he continues having ‘that’ sort of relationship with you. That or teasing the boy about giving him siblings was what set him over the edge. 

All in all, Vergil finds himself not unsatisfied. You’re at his home, claimed, accepting of him and knowing who and what he is; You’re already looking like you belong there, like you might stay. Nero has drawn his sword and they’re sparring over the possibility of him having half-siblings and Vergil’s desire to be a father in more than word alone. In the distance, he feels Dante approaching, hears him yell about starting the fight without him.

Blades clash, he feels his blood burn and sing as they battle on the grass, ripping up patches, scorching parts of the earth.

He hearts your laughter, bells in the air light and sweet. He turns, sees you watching him, smiling, laughing, an expression of happiness on your face as you encourage him, telling him to show them what a demon king can do.

Vergil smirks. He triggers. He wins.

This is, he thinks, not unsatisfactory. It is the first win that feels right. That feels rewarding. There is no power gained, there is not twisted glee in dead bodies or blood or flesh consumed. There is just your smile as you greet him.

A soft kiss. Gentle hands that cup his face, encased in a devil’s skin. His name a reverent whisper.

He is not human. He is not a demon. He never will be either. He cannot be- he doesn’t know how to be one, how to be the other. He will never belong to either world. 

But for you. He is enough. For you-

He will belong to this world, make this world a better place, if only for you.


End file.
